Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. “I confess it. Lucy wore it every day from then on. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. He stabbed a kitchen knife between her ribs. They are not your flowers. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. " He paused, and not without malice. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action.
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